


Terra

by jpegcalum



Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Past Sexual Assault, Protective Peter Quill, Rating May Change, Reader Insert, Slavery, Tags to be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-19
Updated: 2017-05-19
Packaged: 2018-11-02 13:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10945590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jpegcalum/pseuds/jpegcalum
Summary: The Guardians of the Galaxy raid a Slaver vessel and find you, a Terran, abducted from Earth and forced into slavery.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The summary is bad, but I hope you enjoy! Leave me feedback!

_____  
Somewhere in deep space…

A huge ship drifts lazily among the stars, it's black and red paint job chipping and the steel plating on the outside was damaged and bending precariously. It was a Slave Trade Vessel, full of disgusting, horrible men that took innocent people from their families and sold them like cargo, pocketing all profits and doing it all over again. 

Tethered to the vessel is an M-Ship, it's orange and blue paint scheme recognizable by anyone who knew anything about the Guardians of the Galaxy, if there was anyone this far out in the system. 

Inside of the Slaver vessel, it's chaos. 

Footsteps pound on metal grates as the small group of men, slave traders, struggle to outrun an enormous grey man, their shrieking intertwined with his maniacal laughter and filling the ship's dingy corridor. It's pointless to try to avoid being killed; he wasn't going to stop until he had obliterated all of them. If there was one thing he hated, it was innocent people being hurt for the gain of others.  
He lets out another laugh as he finally gets his hands on one, snapping his neck like a twig.  
On the floor just below the chase, a woman was fighting her way through a mass of men with nothing but a sword. She was hardly breaking a sweat as she killed Slaver after Slaver. People weren't goods, they weren't tradable and they weren't meant to be abducted and used. She knew that better than most, and that fury fueled her as she drive her sword through the nearest man.  
Further on, in the highest deck, in the cockpit, a little furry creature and a small plant thing were busily rerouting the vessel, ready to get the enslaved people aboard back to their families, just as they were employed to do by the Nova Corps. While the racoon was most interested in the money, he was ready to get shit done and have a little fun in the process. 

On the lowest deck of the ship, where the lights flickered a haunting orange, was where the Slavers kept their most prized possessions. Rare creatures, treasures, and stolen goods that would fetch a high price on the black market.  
It's free of any enemies now, but strolling through the narrow hallway, looking into the cells, was a man wearing a red coat, his face obscured by a chromium and gold mask, eyes glowing crimson. He's intimidating to look at head on, especially with the blasters in his hands. 

“Peter, Deck Three is clear.” Comes a woman's voice through the intercom, drowning out the roar of the engines that was reverberating up through the metal hull of the ship. 

“Deck Two is also clear!” The next voice is much louder than it needs to be, making the masked man cringe, his hand coming up and pressing a button bear his ear. In sparks of blue energy, the helmet disappearing. 

“Drax, you don't gotta yell!” Another voice, higher pitched and a bit more shrieking, fills the corridor, and that's when the man pulls a comms device from his own belt. 

“Guys, come on!” He calls into it, hoping his team would just get the message and get back to checking the slaves, getting the count of people aboard. 

“Yeah, everyone, shut up! You're throwin’ off Star Dork’s focus!” 

“Rocket, shut up!” It's no use, the racoon (trash panda) is already cackling, not doing much for the man's patience. 

“Quill, what's on Deck Four?” Gamora, the woman asks through the comm, and Peter is grateful that one member of the team was serious about this. 

“Nothin’ really, just some super illegal shit, contraband, guns, probably some stolen…” He trails off suddenly as he reaches a cell at the very end of the corridor.  
The bars are all but busted, bent and dented, as if someone had been banging on them from the outside.  
Inside the cell, it's dark, and the grinding sounds of the engines obscured any noises that might have been coming out of it. 

“Quill?” Gamora asks, and Peter peers into the cage, frowning a little. 

“Hang on.” He mumbles back, hooking his comm to his coat before stepping back, shooting at the control panel on the door, watching as it sparked once, then went black, unlocking for him. He puts one of the guns back in the holster on his hip, holding on as he starts to force the door open, grimacing as the heavy metal screeches in protest. Once it's open, he grunts, pulling the scanner from the pouch on his belt, shaking it a couple times before it beeped and turned on, the blue grid flickering to life from the end of the machine. It flares from ceiling to floor, over a shape pressed against the far wall, and the man's fingers tighten on his blaster as he looks at the screen of the scanner. 

“Life form detected. Terran.” The metal voice chimes, and Peter stops, breath catching. Maybe the machine was wrong. That seemed likely. It was old…  
He smacks the box against the palm of his hand, letting out a slow breath as it scans again. 

“Life form detected. Terran.” It says once more, and he switches it off, dropping it back in his pocket and holstering his blaster. He pulls the comm, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“You guys aren't gonna fucking believe this.”


	2. The Terran

You don't remember much about the night you were abducted. You remember talking to your mother about work, then going outside to call in the cat for the night, but then…   
There were bright lights, and when you'd woken up, you were being poked and prodded and inspected in all the worst ways- the ways those crazy alien abductee people talked about. You'd written them off, but when it happened to you…   
You'd lived in the middle of nowhere, the same sort of place where it happened in the movies.   
You can't really think of how much time has passed since you'd seen another human. It's been a while, though. Two, three years, maybe? The Slavers didn't keep time. You'd been stuck with them for a while, passed from group to group. They were interested in humans.   
Terran, they called your species, and you didn't like it. You just wanted to find someone like you. Going home wasn't an option at this point, you knew. What did you have waiting for you back there, anyway? 

Things had gotten pretty bad on the most recent Slaver Ship. You were property, like the others, of course, but these ones were worse than the others. Terrans are rare, not usually found in space, so they'd made you into some sort of treasured possession. They'd pushed you around and beaten you, seeming rather curious about the color of your blood and the bruises that formed under their hands.   
You didn't know what had happened, or that it was over. 

When you finally came back to consciousness, it took a few moments to pry your eyes open. Fatigue and sluggishness had embedded into your muscles and bones, the ache telling you to just sleep forever, and you won't lie. It sounds tempting. But something feels different. It was so quiet, as if the engines and air ducts are off, and it didn't feel like the painful metal grate of your cell beneath you. This… this wasn't the Slaver vessel.   
Your eyes flicker open and you take a sharp breath, feeling your ribs shudder at the effort. You find yourself lying in a bed, a crisp white blanket over you and sunlight pouring in through a window. It's a small room, but the door is open and there's and glass of blue liquid sitting on the white table just beside the bed. You have no clue where you are, and you're terrified. You need to go, while you still can. 

Sitting up, your body protests, but you ignore it, swinging your legs over the side of the bed and standing shakily. The scrap of fabric that the Slavers had given you to wear was gone, replaced with snow colored garments, soft pants and a shirt that hung off of your scrawny body. You'd been bathed, your hair pulled up off of your thin face. Fuck, you were starving. That didn't matter right now, though. Your steps are shaky and uncertain as you tread across the cold tile floor, hand tracing the wall and keeping you steady as you peek out of the doorway.   
You can hear people talking, not far away, and you bite your lip, turning and starting to limp down the hall, away from the sounds. You just need to get away. You need to get away and disappear. Your heart is pounding and you feel sick, but you can't stop. 

You try, but you don't make it very far before there's a shout behind you, footsteps heading towards you, and when you look back, you see several people coming, dressed in what you can only assume is some sort of alien doctor's garb. You cry out, trying to move forward again, but your knees give out and your body crumples, hitting the ground hard. Letting out a sob, you just want to curl up and hide from them, praying that they won't hurt you.   
“Please, please…” You beg, turning your face back to the wall as they draw closer, a woman with pink skin kneeling down and pressing a small metal box to your forehead, making you flinch. It doesn't hurt, but you don't know what's going on. You're terrified. 

“She's weak and malnourished.” The woman says, and you try to scoot away, but the doctor has suddenly knelt beside you, pressing a hand to your back and making you whimper. 

“Come on, let's get back to bed, Miss.” He says gently, and you shake your head, letting out another sob. 

“Let me go- I-I want to go.” You gasp out, attempting to push them away, but there's no use. You're shaking like a leaf as he and the woman lift you carefully to your feet, and the doctor turns to another woman.   
“Please go tell Mr. Quill she's awake. He's been waiting since they brought the prisoners here.” He says, and the nurse nods as they start to help you back they way you'd come.   
You let them, to weak and afraid to do much else. They don't seem to want to hurt you, but… Mr. Quill, you weren't so sure about. Why had he been waiting for you to wake up? Was he a buyer? You feel lightheaded, and your legs fail you again, but the doctor and nurse have you, holding you steady and carrying you back to your room.   
____

Peter had insisted on staying on Xandar, and frankly, no one but Rocket had put up much of a fight. They all seemed to understand that this was important. It wasn't a parent. It was someone who shared the same homeworld with him. He'd not met another Terran before, and this… it was huge.   
It's been five days since they'd delivered the former slaves to the Nova Corps, and they'd been generously rewarded, so being able to stay and relax (i.e, gambling, drinking, etc.) was good with Gamora, Drax, Rocket and Groot. Although, Groot mostly stayed with Gamora at their quarters that Nova Corps had provided for them. They were nice enough, but Peter spent a lot of time at the hospital, waiting on her. 

They knew nothing about her, except that she'd been battered and starved. The burned on markings that she carried on her inner left arm were the symbols that represented three different Slaver factions that she'd been passed to and from. Peter was going to make sure there wouldn't be a fourth. That is, if she wanted to stay. He couldn't make her if she didn't want to. But he was probably the best person for her to interact with right now. 

Stretched out in one of the cushy armchairs in the waiting room, his head tipped back and eyes closed, Peter had his headphones over his ears and Walkman in hand, 10cc playing softly. This song reminded him of his mom, but it calmed him. It was good. 

A hand on his arm makes him look up into the face of a Xandarian nurse, and he presses pause and hangs his headphones around his neck. 

“Mr. Quill, she's woken up. She's in distress right now, and we were hoping you might be able to help her?” She asks softly, and Peter is on his feet in record time. 

“Yeah, absolutely. Lead the way.” 

_____

They've gotten you back into the bed and the nurse has coaxed you into taking a few sips of the healing drink from the side table. You're starting to calm a little, laid back against the pillow on the bed. You're tired, but you can't sleep. You needed to keep a watch.   
The nurse has just finished taking care of you when the other woman appears in the doorway, smiling at you as she enters, someone following. 

The man behind her looks at you, concern in his eyes, but a friendly smile on his lips. He's wearing a red leather jacket with the sleeves pulled up a bit, exposing his hands and forearms. His shirt has some cartoony character on it, and his face is somewhat rugged, and yet soft. He looks kind, to an extent, but you can see the blasters hiding underneath the fabric of the jacket.   
But your eyes are drawn away to what he's got hanging from his belt on his hip. You blink, wetting your lips.   
“S’that a Walkman?” You ask, and a huge, stupid grin breaks over his lips. It's contagious, you swear, because for the first time in a long time, you smile back. 

“Yeah, it is.” He replied, nodding at the nurses, assuring them he's got it as he pulls a chair up beside the bed. The ladies leave, and you jump as a door appears out of nowhere in the frame, sliding shut and leaving you alone with him. 

“I'm Peter. Peter Quill. Or Star-Lord. I'm from Earth.” 

Your eyes snap back to him and you stare at him, mouth falling open.   
“...Really?” You ask softly. He nods, and you swallow hard.   
“I'm (Y/N). I'm from Earth too.” 

Peter smiles, nodding.   
“I was brought out here when I was a kid, but I've never seen another human. How long have you been here?” 

You have to think for a moment - they never really had conversations with you, so this is your first substantial interaction in a while.   
“Uhm… I don't really… Years…” You sigh, crossing your arms over your stomach and looking down.   
“Three years.” 

The man sighs sympathetically, but doesn't reach out to touch you, and you appreciate that.   
“My dad was an alien.” He says quietly, as if it's a rough subject. “He sent someone to get me and get me for him after my mom died on Earth. But that didn't really work out, so Ravagers - Do you know Ravagers? - They raised me. Taught me to be a thief.” 

You look up at him, frowning a little.   
“You're a criminal?” You ask, scooting away a little. 

“No! No, not anymore. Kind of. We work for Nova Corps, me and my friends. We're kind of a big deal. We're the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

You'd heard of them, the Guardians. The Slavers always talked about how terrible they were because they were eliminating threats and helping people. They were like space superheros. 

“Oh.” You murmur, just staring at him with wide eyes. This guy, a defender of the galaxy, had waited on you to wake up. You're impressed. 

“So… where are you from?” He asks, obviously wanting to know more about you. 

“I was raised on a farm in New Mexico.” You say softly.   
“My parents were sort of… Cowboys? I guess. They taught me to shoot and stuff, but I just liked my dog. And then the aliens came, and that's just...” You run a hand through your freshly cleaned hair, twisting it around your fingers as you start to get overwhelmed again. Peter seems to sense that, because he moves closer. 

“Hey… Do you like music?” He asks gently, taking the Walkman from his hip and placing it on the bed. 

“Huh? Oh… what kind of music?” You mumble, and he motions you to come closer. You do, and he carefully places the headphones on you, letting you lay back before pressing play.   
It's old, you can tell that much, as the Walkman starts up, slow and sluggish. But after a moment, you can hear the slow and gentle hum of I'm Not In Love by 10cc. Your daddy loved this song, and you'd been listening to it since you were a baby. It strikes you hard, and your eyes flutter shut, amazed that this was the first song you'd hear after three years of nothing. You swallow hard as tears start to roll down your cheeks, and you feel a hand slip into yours gently, a comforting presence in this time of terror. You liked Peter. You wanted him to stay. You wanted to stay with him.


End file.
